


it suits you

by lolainslackss



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew is a personal stylist, M/M, Neil is an Olympic athlete, Personal Stylist AU, Pining, Suit Shop AU, british neil, romcom vibes, there are zero (0) tragic backstories, wedding shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-05 20:33:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14626515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolainslackss/pseuds/lolainslackss
Summary: “I’ve heard that you can buy suits here,” He said.Andrew pointedly looked from side to side at the many suits that lined the walls.“That’s the general idea, yes.”...Andrew Minyard is killing time working at his cousin's central London suit shop as a personal stylist. One day, Neil Hatford, an Olympic athlete in desperate need of a new wardrobe, walks through the door. That's when everything changes.





	1. Chapter 1

The bell above the door to Hemmick and Klose rang out as the door clattered shut. Andrew adjusted his cuffs, still stiff with newness, and went to greet the customer.

Outside, the sun bore down on the street in one translucent, yellow haze. It was early Spring, and London was experiencing a heatwave. For some, it was a welcome reprieve from a particularly cold Winter. For others, like Andrew, the heat was stifling. He felt like he’d reached boiling point.

The suit certainly didn’t make the heat any more bearable, but then, the suit came with the job.

Nicky was always handing Andrew a suit with a new cut, or a new material Erik had sent over from Germany, as he left work at 5pm. Ever since he’d become an expert at tailoring, Nicky had become obsessed with making suits for them to wear at work. Andrew complained about it, but in reality, Nicky actually did have good taste, and Andrew kind of enjoyed pairing the suits with complementary ties, or pocket squares, or cufflinks even.

It was, after all, what he’d signed up for when he’d agreed to become a personal stylist at Nicky and Erik’s central London boutique.

“Mr. Walker,” Andrew nodded as one of their regular customers, a Mr. Charles Walker, strolled towards the front desk. He was in his early forties, and was a television newsreader and keen cyclist.

Mr. Walker smiled, his freckled cheeks rosy from the sunshine. His cycling gear was tinted dark with sweat.  

“I’m after a new suit,” Mr. Walker said. He always was.

“Any particular occasion?” Andrew asked, drumming his fingers against the desk.

“Wedding, up north,” Mr. Walker told him. “In the Highlands, you know.”

Andrew observed Mr. Walker for a moment, taking in the blue-green of his eyes, the russet-brown of his hair, the muscular curve of his calves.

“I know just the thing,” Andrew said. “Scottish tweed. Moss-green. A three-piece, of course, in an Edward cut. You can pair it with the rust-coloured tie you bought last year.”

“Sounds delightful,” Mr. Walker drawled. “You have my measurements?”

“We do.”

“Then I will leave it in your capable hands.”

Andrew jotted down the details as Mr. Walker left the shop. The bell sang out once more and Nicky wandered in from the back of the boutique.

“Mr. Walker again?” Nicky asked.

Andrew hummed affirmatively.

“He’s always here,” Nicky went on, “do you think he _likes_ you?”

Andrew knitted his eyebrows together, not dignifying the question with an answer.

“He is a _fine_ specimen of a man,” Nicky crooned, looking at the closed door wistfully. “I could take a nap on those thighs.”

Andrew shoved the suit specification at Nicky to shut him up, and Nicky read it over excitedly. He loved working with tweed.

Andrew sat down at the front desk as Nicky retreated to the back of the boutique to get started on the suit. It was a slow day, and there wasn’t much to be getting on with. After flicking through the shop diary for a minute or two, he pulled out his phone.

Aaron had sent a message on their group chat to say his most recent exam had gone well. Nicky had already replied with a slew of emojis, and Andrew didn’t feel the need to add anything, so he slipped his phone back into the pocket of his suit jacket.

Aaron was studying Medicine at Oxford University. It was the entire reason they were in London in the first place. Nicky and Erik had always wanted to expand the business, so they decided to open a London branch. Erik had stayed in Germany to take care of their other suit shop, and Andrew had moved to London with Nicky.

Andrew had spent the latter part of his teenage years surrounded by scraps of fabric, glittering needles, and the whirring of a sewing machine as he and Aaron had often reluctantly helped out around the shop. When Aaron had gotten accepted to Oxford, and Nicky had suggested Andrew join him in London to work as a personal stylist in the new boutique, Andrew had shrugged and agreed.

It wasn’t like he had anything else going on.

He knew Nicky had asked him under the pretence of needing someone there who was familiar with the business. Really, though, Nicky had asked because he thought Andrew would want to be where Aaron was. While there was some truth in that, Andrew was happy to play along with the other version. Whatever the case, he was just killing time until something, anything, _happened_.  

Andrew sighed heavily. He felt like he had spent the majority of his life just _waiting_ for something to begin, but nothing ever did.

He was bored, and his fingers itched to hold a cigarette. To distract himself, he started straightening the suit on the mannequin to his left, and then he stopped. Everything was immaculate; there was no point.

The bell chimed, and a warm breeze flitted into the shop. Andrew looked up, and saw that a man he’d never seen before was standing in the doorway, looking like he’d just stumbled in accidentally, like he wasn’t sure he should even be there at all.

They stood like that for a second, very still, and watching each other, as the sunlight streamed through the windows, littering the shiny hardwood floor with puddles of sunlight.

“Can I help you?” Andrew asked.

The man grinned a little sheepishly, and finally stepped inside fully.

“I’ve heard that you can buy suits here,” He said.

Andrew pointedly looked from side to side at the many suits that lined the walls.

“That’s the general idea, yes.”

The man smirked at that. He didn’t look like one of their regular customers. He was wearing loose-fitting jogging trousers, a plain white t-shirt, and running trainers. He was small, but athletic-looking. There was sunlight caught on every bit of him, lighting him up like a jewel. He had garnet hair, sapphire eyes, and Andrew immediately wanted to dress him up in the finest suit they had. It was just as Andrew was picking out a ludicrously self-indulgent colour palette for such an outfit that he realised the man looked familiar.

“You’re famous,” Andrew commented drily, sure that he’d seen the man on television before.

“I’m, um, Neil Hatford?”

“Ah, the _runner_. Silver at the Olympics last time, wasn’t it?”

“Bronze, actually,” Neil replied, his smile still intact.

“And what kind of suit are you looking for?” Andrew asked.

“I don’t know,” Neil said. “A nice one?”

“A nice one,” Andrew repeated.

“Yeah?” Neil went on. “I need it for like, TV and stuff? I mean, according to my publicist I need a whole new wardrobe altogether. All I own is running gear and sweatpants, really.”

“Well, I can help you with the suit, but I’m not sure about the rest,” Andrew said.

Neil’s face fell.

“I thought you were a personal stylist? That’s what my uncle told me. You’re Andrew, right?”

“Right.”

He must be referring to Stuart Hatford, Andrew realised. He was a regular, always needing something made to measure for a business meeting in Prague or wherever.

“We _make_ suits here,” Nicky piped up, emerging as if summoned from a magic lamp, “but for an extra cost, Andrew can take you around the shops and pick out anything else you might need.”

Andrew glared at Nicky. It was true. He had done that on occasion. That didn’t mean he wanted to do it _now_ , with Neil Hatford, looking like he’d ran right into the store from the surface of the sun itself, with his tanned, muscular limbs, and his hair a coppery, golden mess.

“That sounds great,” Neil said. “Can I make an appointment for tomorrow? My dog is waiting outside.”

“You have a dog?” Nicky said, squealing. “Oh my gosh, can we see?”

“Nicky-” Andrew started, but Nicky and Neil were already heading outside.

Andrew folded his arms and frowned. He tapped his foot twice against the floor before giving up and following.

Sure enough, a large black Labrador was tied to the nearest lamppost, panting from the heat.

“Good boy,” Nicky was saying, crouching down to stroke the dog behind the ears.

“This is Athos,” Neil told Andrew, as if he was supposed to care.

He didn’t.

“Like the musketeer?” He asked anyway.

“Yeah,” Neil replied. “He’s rubbish with the heat, so I should take him home soon, but I can come back tomorrow?”

Andrew opened his mouth to detail just how busy he was tomorrow when Nicky interrupted.

“Yes, of course,” Nicky babbled excitedly, still patting Athos. “We’d be happy to have you, Mr. Hatford.”

“Call me Neil, really,” Neil insisted. “Mr. Hatford is what everybody calls my uncle.”

Neil unfurled Athos’s lead from around the lamppost and left with a small wave, letting them know he would see them tomorrow.

“I’m jealous,” Nicky said, shooting Andrew a sly look. “You get to play dress-up with him.”

“Shut up,” Andrew said, but there was no bite in it. The sun was making him exhausted and thirsty. His head was starting to ache.

“An Olympic athlete,” Nicky gushed. “He’s so gorgeous, I might cry.”

Andrew suppressed the sudden and tempting urge to shove Nicky off the curb and into the road, instead turning to go back inside.

As he left that afternoon and walked through the streets of London with his tie undone, he thought about how unexpected Neil Hatford had been that afternoon. It was as if he’d been called into being by the clang of the shop bell and the sun. When their eyes had met, the world had appeared to stand still, if only for a second, before slowly spinning on. _It was nothing_ , Andrew thought, a trick of the heat.

But he couldn’t help but be a little bit curious about tomorrow, and what it would bring.  

 

…

 

Neil Hatford was late.

Andrew left his cigarette dangling from his bottom lip as he checked his watch. Five minutes was fine, but ten was basically a crime.

Finally, Neil jogged towards him. He was wearing a pair of tiny running shorts and a jersey from the last Summer Olympics that was flecked with black dog hairs. His socks were mismatched and one of his shoelaces was nearly undone. Andrew looked at it and felt his eyebrow twitch upwards. He thought that maybe he loathed Neil Hatford and his stupid hair and his annoying dog and his terrible fashion sense.

“Sorry I’m late,” Neil told Andrew. Though he’d obviously ran the whole way there, he was barely out of breath and there wasn’t a drop of sweat on his forehead, even in the thick heat.  

“I don’t care,” Andrew replied easily. “I started billing you at the start of the hour. If you want to pay me to stand around enjoying a cigarette, that’s your business.”

Neil scoffed. Andrew inhaled a deep drag of his cigarette and kept his gaze fixed on Neil.

“Remind me again what we’re looking for today,” Andrew drawled when Neil just kept looking at him expectantly.

“Uh, clothes,” Neil said.

“Specifics.”

“I don’t know. Stylish stuff? Jeans, shirts, jackets, a couple of smart suits. No sportswear. I was explicitly told no sportswear.”

“By whom?”

“My publicist.”

“Okay.”

“Kevin.”

“You say his name like you hate him.”

Neil thought about that for a second.

“He’s my best friend,” He said, and Andrew almost snorted before he realised Neil was being sincere.

“Apart from Athos, of course.”

“Enough chit-chat,” Andrew announced, stubbing his cigarette against the wall and tossing the end on a nearby bin. “Try to keep up.”

“Won’t be a problem,” Neil said, smirking slightly.

Neil shut up and followed Andrew down Oxford Street. They must have looked an odd pair, what with Andrew in an impeccably tailored black suit and Neil in running gear, weaving in an out of the crowds. Andrew noticed a few people turning to gawp at Neil but luckily nobody slowed them down.

They stopped off in Harrods and Selfridges to pick up some bits and bobs - simple tees and patterned shirts, comfy yet smart trousers, soft woollen cardigans, coloured blazers, scarves and about fifty pairs of socks with silly prints (Neil had been confused about that but Andrew insisted they’d add a bit of character to an otherwise plain outfit).

They left Oxford Street and headed for the Underground. Neil followed but shot Andrew a curious look.

The tube was packed and in heatwaves it got sticky and messy. Andrew pulled at his tie and exhaled sharply through his nose. Neil frequently bumped up against him as the carriage shuddered along. Despite the intense heat emanating off Neil, Andrew endured it, letting him lean against him until he regained his balance.

They switched lines, and rushed through the Underground, the outside world spilling past, a blur of grey. Finally, they got off the tube and walked to Camden Market.

“Why are we here?” Neil asked, unable to quell his interest any further.

“You need some pieces,” Andrew replied blandly, running his hand along a rack of beat-up leather jackets.

“Pieces?”

“Interesting clothes,” Andrew elaborated. “Things you can’t just pick up anywhere.”

Neil hummed and reached for a studded, embroidered denim jacket.

“What about this?”

“Maybe,” Andrew said, meaning _no_.

“Why do you like dressing people?” Neil asked all of a sudden.

“I don’t,” Andrew muttered.

“Then why do you do it?” Neil sounded genuinely surprised.

“Just killing time,” Andrew replied without missing a beat.

“Until what?”

“Until _something_. I don’t know. Who cares?”

“Do you not have plans?”

“Why the curiosity? Did _you_ always want to be a runner?”

“Yes?” Neil answered, as if it were obvious.

Andrew thought about Aaron, and the determined look on his face when they drove away and left him at Oxford. He could imagine Aaron there, surrounded by piles of books, his girlfriend at his side to comfort him when he got stressed out. He tried to imagine himself in a similar situation, but couldn’t. All he saw was himself, bored, at the front desk of Hemmick and Klose, watching the door as if something exciting was about to blow through it.

“Yeah, well,” Andrew muttered, unsure of why he was even talking. “Lucky you.”

“I like your accent,” Neil said, changing the subject.

Andrew narrowed his eyes at him; he wasn’t used to Londoners complimenting his accent.

“When did you leave the States?” Neil asked.

“When my parents died,” Andrew replied, “we went to stay with Nicky in Germany.”

Andrew thought back to when they first moved to Germany, thought about sitting by the window, reading, as Nicky tailored suit jackets. He had tried to focus on the words in front of him but kept getting distracted by what Nicky was doing. He could remember the multi-coloured threads spilling from their spools, Nicky’s fingers deftly dancing across the fabric as if he were performing a magic trick. He could remember Aaron curled up on the chair next to him, napping and snoring lightly. Those days had been quiet, calm.

“My parents died too,” Neil told him. “When I was a baby. I was born in the States as well, actually, but I’ve lived here my whole life. Hence the accent.”

“Ah, so that’s your tragic backstory?” Andrew taunted. “Bet Kevin the publicist loves that.”

Neil’s expression turned dark for a second, and then, it faded away, replaced by a smile.

“You’re smiling, but you’re clearly annoyed,” Andrew pressed. “Why is that?”

“I’m trying to work on what ‘Kevin the publicist’ calls my little attitude problem,” Neil replied flatly.

“Personal development,” Andrew said, amused. “How noble.”

“You might want to try it sometime,” Neil said.

Andrew couldn’t help it; he felt the corners of his mouth begin to curve into a smile. Neil Hatford was interesting, it turned out. Who knew?

“And it’s hardly a tragic backstory,” Neil continued. “I never even knew them. My uncle has been good to me. I’ve been able to follow my dream of competing in the Olympics. Everything is great. What more could I want?”

“Nothing,” Andrew agreed, shoving a leather jacket at Neil and pointing to the dressing room.

Andrew waited as Neil worked his way through the bundle of clothes that Andrew had picked out for him. Every few minutes Neil would draw back the curtain and ask Andrew his opinion. They left with a leather jacket, some heavy biker boots, a pair of ripped jeans, and the embroidered, studded denim monstrosity that Neil took a fancy to.

It was nearly five. They’d been shopping for the entirety of Andrew’s shift and he was finished. Laden with shopping bags, they made their way back to the tube station.

“If you come to the shop tomorrow, we can get you measured and sort out your suits,” Andrew told him as they were about to part ways.

“What are you doing now?” Neil asked.

“I’m probably going to get a drink,” Andrew told him.

“Can I come?”

Andrew raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“I’m not in training right now and everything is so boring,” Neil explained.

Andrew shrugged.

“What about the bags?” Neil asked, interpreting Andrew’s shrug as a _yes_.

“We can dump them back at Hemmick and Klose,” Andrew said. “You can pick them up tomorrow when you come to get measured.”

“You’re officially off the clock,” Neil said, rolling his eyes, “so you can drop the customer service act. It was clearly fake anyway.”

Andrew pressed him lips together, amused.

“Fine,” He agreed. “Let’s get rid of this shit and go get a drink.”

 

…

 

They started on gin and tonics, cold and dry and sour from the lime. Then, Andrew ordered them a round or two of whisky. It was around this time that people started to recognise Neil. Some came up looking for autographs and selfies. Others brought them glasses of champagne full of tiny golden bubbles and patted Neil on the back saying _good job, mate_ or _better be the gold next time_.

Neil was all smiles, posing for selfies and laughing off the jibes. Andrew watched him carefully, wondering when he’d stop acting like his publicist’s wet dream. It was still entirely too hot, even though he’d ditched the tie and the jacket in addition to loosening his top two buttons. He felt dizzy from the heat and the alcohol and Neil’s eyes, electric blue neon in the dark of the club they’d somehow found themselves in.  

“Do you have an attitude problem because you came in third?” Andrew asked Neil, drinking the shot of tequila that had made its way into his hands.

“No,” Neil replied. “There were two other people better than me. What’s there to be pissed off about?”

“You tell me.”

“Well, I guess it’s because everyone is annoying. It’s always ‘get gold next time’, ‘wear this’, ‘smile for the camera’, ‘don’t talk about that.’ All I want to do is run.”

“So just run,” Andrew told him.

Neil smiled and the sight of it made Andrew feel more tipsy than he actually was. Around them, the music rose like a tidal wave.

“Who cares what they say?” Andrew continued. “Instigate, mouth off, tell them to get their own fucking gold medals, wear your ugly running shorts on talk shows if you want to. Pretending is boring.”

“Says the man pretending to be a personal stylist.”

“I _am_ a personal stylist.”

“But you don’t want to be.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Neil pursed his lips, shrugged, and Andrew felt a _tug_ somewhere deep in his chest. It was a yearning for something. He just didn’t know what. Blue light kept sliding across Neil’s shoulders, cutting him in half.

 _Do you want to get out of here?_ Andrew wanted to ask.

“I have work tomorrow,” He said instead. “I should get going soon.”

“Of course,” Neil said, all false politeness. “Don’t let me stop you.”

 

...

 

Andrew’s head throbbed dully, but he had a reputation to uphold, so he pretended he was okay.

“How did it go with Neil Hatford?” Nicky asked, a wide grin on his face.

Andrew shrugged.

“Oh, come on, Andrew,” Nicky pressed. “A little _detail_ wouldn’t hurt.”

“Go Skype Erik if you’re so desperate,” Andrew replied, deadpan.

Before Nicky could respond, the shop bell rattled to life and Neil Hatford strolled in.

“Neil!” Nicky called out, walking over to greet him as if he were an old friend. “Is my favourite dog with you this time?”

“Yeah, Athos is just outside if you want to say hi,” Neil said.

“I’ll go look after him while Andrew takes your measurements,” Nicky replied, shooting Andrew a stealthy wink.

Andrew grabbed his tape measure and jerked his head toward the back room. Neil followed him in there.

“What do you need me to do?” Neil asked. Andrew considered him carefully. He wasn’t sure if it were even possible, but Neil’s freckles were even more prominent than they were yesterday. They were rusted stars uprooted from their constellations. They were hypnotic.

“You don’t need to do anything,” He told Neil. “Just stand there and try to be quiet.”

“Rough night?” Neil asked teasingly.

Andrew shook his head and pulled the tape measure so it was taut. He brought it to the fabric of Neil’s t-shirt to measure his chest, swallowing hard when he felt Neil’s heartbeat against his fingertips. Neil remained quiet as Andrew carefully took his measurements and jotted them down.

“Last night was-” Neil started.

“We’re finished here,” Andrew cut him off. “So you can go rescue your dog from Nicky.”

“You have everything you need?” Neil asked unsurely.

“Yes. The suits will be ready in three days. Will you be coming in to pick them up?”

“No. Kevin’s going to arrange for someone to get them. They’ll take the other bags too. I would come but our schedule is full-up over the next couple of weeks. Press stuff.”

Andrew didn’t reply. He couldn’t risk sounding disappointed.

“Do you want to come say hello to Athos?” Neil asked, looking hopeful.

 _No_ , Andrew thought.

“Yes,” He found himself replying.

Athos started wagging his tail when he saw them approaching. Nicky made himself scarce, and Andrew folded his arms, not really sure how you were supposed to greet a dog. He’d always been more of a cat person, if he was being honest.

Neil unwound Athos’s lead from the lamppost and looked at Andrew expectantly.

Andrew crouched down and let Athos lick his palm.

“He likes you,” Neil remarked.

“He’s a dog,” Andrew replied. “He likes anyone who gives him attention.”

“Maybe.”

Andrew stood and waited.

“Well,” Neil said awkwardly. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“Mm.”

“Thanks for helping me out.”

“If you need anything else, you know where we are,” Andrew said slowly, carefully.

“Right,” Neil replied, looping the lead around his wrist and beginning to walk away. “See you.”

“See you,” Andrew echoed.

Andrew watched and Neil and Athos got farther and farther away, until they melted into the crowd, and disappeared from his line of sight. Then he paused a moment, feeling the spring breeze against his skin. Neil was away, and it was done. The world could keep turning.

He went back inside. Nicky was sprawled across the chaise longue, fanning himself.

“Will this heatwave ever end?” He complained.

Andrew shrugged and closed the door.

“You look like he just slapped you across the face,” Nicky said, eyeing Andrew carefully. “Did he not like the clothes?”

“I don’t care if he doesn’t like them,” Andrew muttered. “They just have to look good, and they do, so job done.”

“Okay,” Nicky said. “Then, what?”

“Then nothing.”

“It’s Friday night, Andrew,” Nicky said, crossing his legs and giving Andrew a knowing smirk. “You could just call him, ask him out.”

“No, thanks.”

“Go on,” Nicky persisted, walking over and jabbing his finger against the open address book. “His number’s right there.”

“That’s his uncle’s number,” Andrew replied sourly.

“He lives there,” Nicky pointed out.

Andrew didn’t reply and Nicky eventually dropped the subject.

When he left that evening, Nicky handed him one of the store’s fancy, paper bags. Andrew poked aside the tissue paper to take a peek; it was another suit.

“It’s floral,” Nicky admitted. “You’ll hate it.”

He was right. Andrew scowled at his reflection in the mirror. It wasn’t that he was against floral prints; it just wasn’t for him. Such a suit would be perfect for some of their customers, however. Andrew stuffed his hands in the pockets and turned to look at the back. His fingers met a slip of paper. That was weird; Nicky had just made the suit earlier that day.

Andrew pulled the piece of paper out and looked at it. In Nicky’s untidy scrawl was a phone number, and the words _if you change your mind xoxo_.

 _What an entirely stupid idea_ , Andrew thought. At the same time, his brain conjured up the image of Neil saying _see you_ , before he and Athos walked away into the crowded street.

 _Stupid_ , Andrew thought again, as he pinned the phone number to his fridge door.

 

…

 

The heatwave persisted. The next month went by so quickly; it was a blur of sunny days and too-warm nights, of writing down measurements and picking out fabrics, or drinking gin and tonics by himself after work and wondering. He still had Neil Hatford’s number, scribbled in Nicky’s messy handwriting, stuck on his fridge, held in place by a magnet. Some nights, he considered calling it. Other nights, he thought about taking it down, shoving it in the bin.

It was a Wednesday morning. The sky was the palest of pale blues and the sunlight was a spilt bottle of champagne. Aaron had messaged them to say he’d just taken his last exam, and was finished for the summer. Nicky had replied to say he was welcome at the shop. Andrew didn’t have anything to add, so left it at that.

The bell jingled its usual tune as the door creaked open but Andrew barely had the energy to look up.

“Hey.”

Andrew felt his heart traitorously skip a beat as he slowly raised his head because _ah_ there it was... a knowing smirk, and smooth, sun-kissed skin, and the entire sun caged in the curls of his hair. Neil.

He should have called the damn number.

“What can I do for you?” Andrew asked, once he managed to find his voice.

“I heard you can buy suits here,” Neil replied teasingly.   

“You already got your suits,” Andrew pointed out. “Was Kevin disappointed?”

“Um, I need a different kind of suit,” Neil explained.

“And what’s the occasion?” Andrew asked, flicking open his notebook and readying his pen.

“A wedding,” Neil told him.

“I see,” Andrew said. “Something more formal then?”

Neil nodded and drummed his fingertips against the desk. Andrew slid his gaze over Neil’s face down to his arms and imagined him in a suit the colour of the sea.

“Tell me more about this wedding,” Andrew instructed. It was his job as a personal stylist to know about the event he was dressing his client for. Context was everything.

“Oh, you know, nothing special,” Neil said with a shrug. “It’s in the city in a couple of weeks. Oh- and it’ll be outside.”

“So something summery and light,” Andrew replied, scribbling down a few notes and thinking about Neil in a pale yellow linen suit with a cornflower-blue tie and golden tips at the collar of his shirt.

“I guess,” Neil said, still tapping his fingers against the desk in an offbeat rhythm.   

“And who’s getting married?” Andrew asked, disinterested.

“Oh,” Neil replied, and the minute he opened his mouth, Andrew felt it, felt the world stop turning once again, only this time he knew why, could see it coming in thick, blinking, neon letters; a warning sign, a premonition of stormy weather ahead.

“I am,” Neil said.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re getting _married_?” Nicky exclaimed, his shrill tone simultaneously erasing the silence and diffusing the tension, a pin in an over-inflated balloon.  

Andrew and Neil both turned to face him. Neil just nodded, a snippet of a smile on his face, his eyes sliding to Andrew for a second before returning to Nicky.

“Yeah,” Neil said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

Nicky began babbling excitedly about weddings and how much _fun_ they were, but Andrew wasn’t listening. He stared at the pair of them, hearing something like the sea roaring inside his head. Neil was embarrassed almost, brushing it off like it wasn’t a big deal. Nicky, Andrew could tell, was all forced cheer. He was gluing the situation together. Nicky was good at that.

“I’m going out,” Andrew announced.

“Oh, right, sure,” Nicky replied, his casual tone convincing.

Neil opened his mouth to say something as Andrew passed him, then stopped.

Andrew walked down the street to the store. He bought a pack of the most expensive rolling tobacco they had. He then bought papers, filters, a cheap plastic lighter. He sat on the steps of the boutique and packed the tobacco into the white, crisp paper, twirling it between his fingers until it were thinner than a pencil. He lit it up, inhaled.

 _Married_. It shouldn’t feel like such a shock. People got married all the time. People were stupid. But then, he’d thought- what _had_ he thought?

The sky had darkened, but it was still warm, sultry. The sky was a gothic swirl of plum and grey. There would be a storm later; the air was heavy with the promise of it. Lightning would crackle through the clouds; thunder would scrunch up the sky like the hands of a lover twisting in the bedsheets. Andrew crushed the cigarette into the ground, dragging a trail of ash across the step in the process. He stood, straightened his suit jacket, and breathed out a smoke-laced sigh. He knew he should go back inside, but he didn't want to. He wanted to go home, to go back to bed.

Nicky was still chatting away to Neil, but shot Andrew a frantic and concerned glance as he strode back inside. Andrew hardened his gaze in response.

“Well, we have your measurements,” Andrew interrupted their conversation. “You can leave it with us. When will you be picking it up?”

Neil looked a bit startled by Andrew’s cold tone, but Andrew didn’t care.

“We’re really very busy, Mr. Hatford,” Andrew continued “If you’d prefer we can deliver it to you.”

Neil shot him a look as if to say _come on_ , but Andrew just regarded him with a cool, bored expression.

“Okay. Whatever,” Neil muttered finally. “Kevin will pick it up.”

When Andrew didn’t respond, Nicky stepped forward from where he’d been hovering awkwardly by one of the mannequins.

“We’ll make you look handsome,” He told Neil with a wink. “Don’t worry about it.”

Neil attempted a smile and engaged in Nicky’s small talk, but when he finally left he avoided Andrew’s eye and was frowning.

“Ah, the sexual tension in here. Too much,” Nicky said, wiping his hand across his brow and wandering over to where Andrew was stood, scribbling away in his notebook. Andrew’s mind was racing at a mile a minute. It was all patterns and colours, cuts and accessories, anything to distract himself from _married, married, married_ -

“Andrew?”

Andrew stopped, looked up. Nicky was looking at him sympathetically and he couldn’t stand it. He felt like one of those pathetic birds trapped in a tar-pit. He jerked his chin up and raised his eyebrows as if to say _what_?

“I can’t believe it,” Nicky said, irritated. “It was supposed to be you and him.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Andrew replied. “I hardly know him and I can hardly stand him.”

“I could _feel_ it,” Nicky went on, breathing out an annoyed puff of air. “There was a definite vibe. _And_ you think he’s cute.”

“So do you,” Andrew replied coolly.

“I think everybody is cute,” Nicky replied with a shrug. “You guys had something special.”

“We hung out for a day,” Andrew said, rolling his eyes.

“This isn’t the end.”

“Nicky. Don’t scheme.”

Nicky flashed him a grin and then headed to the back room, waving his hand dismissively when Andrew tried to pass him the notes he'd just made.

Andrew pressed his lips together. It didn't matter. It was all garbage anyway. He tried to clear his mind, imagine the perfect suit for Neil on his wedding day, but he couldn’t. His brain conjured up images of Neil’s eyes, melodramatic blue, in the dark of the club. He remembered the bright, brilliant sound of Neil’s laugh, the clink of their shot glasses as they clumsily clashed them together. He thought of Neil picking out ugly clothes and presenting them to Andrew as if they were the greatest thing he’s ever seen, the steady weight of Neil’s body against his own on the tube. He could see the almost-undone lace of Neil’s sneaker, the milky way of dog hair scattered across his jersey, and the spill of his auburn hair. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t picture Neil as a groom. He couldn’t imagine him saying _I do_ or slipping a ring onto his partner’s finger. It was out of reach, impossible to grasp, like smoke, like a ghost.

 

…

 

The rain came down heavily.

Outside Andrew’s window, London was watercolour grey. Despite the sudden burst of bad weather, it was still warm, balmy. Andrew slept with the balcony door open, the curtain billowing slightly in the breeze. He was sprawled on the sofa bed, lying on his front. Empty beer bottles were congregated on the table next to an ashtray that was overflowing with bent cigarette stubs. The television was still on. Horses ran across plains; old men in cowboy hats were shot, fell violently to the ground, bled out on the desert floor.

He watched it, disinterested. His head felt full of wool; it was all scratchy and dry. There was rain sneaking inside so he laboriously dragged himself upright and went over to close the balcony door.

Stretching, he walked to the kitchen to make himself a coffee and rolled himself a cigarette as it brewed. Finally, he went through to his wardrobe and got changed for the day. He chose a suit that was a deep shade of indigo and paired it with a brand new, crisp, black shirt. Instead of selecting a tie, he chose to leave the top couple of buttons undone. He slipped his bare feet into a pair of black brogues and headed for the tube station.

The shop was quiet; it always was on rainy days. Andrew leaned across the counter, feeling lethargic and sluggish. He started flicking through his notebook. It was full of messy sketches and makeshift palettes, blobs of colour arranged in crooked lines. He picked up a pen and started drawing, his mind full of wedding bells, scattered confetti. _Annoying_. He tore pages out, crumpled them up, started again. Eventually, he had something passable to give to Nicky, who accepted the sheet of paper with a sad, little sigh and a pitying look. Andrew didn’t have time for that, so he walked back into the front of the shop and watched the rain fall, the drops chasing each other down the window pane, seemingly never to stop.

 

…

 

A couple of days later, a tall, frowning man barged into the shop barking down a phone.

Andrew lifted his head from the desk and stood up, trying to look professional.

“He can’t take _that_ sponsorship deal, obviously,” The man was saying, ignoring Andrew but making his way to the desk anyway. “Why? Because it’s all about advocacy. He’s a role model for kids and- I- oh don’t give me that.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes at the man and he held up a finger in Andrew’s face as if to say, _one minute_.

“Okay. I have to go. We’re on _The One Show_ this afternoon. Yes. No. Don’t bother. Goodbye. Yes. Bye-bye,” The man sucked in a breath through his teeth and shoved the phone in his pocket.

“Kevin, is it?” Andrew drawled, when he finally had the man’s full attention.

Kevin looked taken aback for a second before nodding curtly.

“I’m here for the suit,” Kevin announced.

“Suit?” Andrew replied dryly. “You’re going to have to be a little bit more specific. We have a lot of suits here.”

“Well, _obviously_ ,” Kevin said, flushing with irritation. “I mean the wedding suit? For Neil? What else?”

Andrew shrugged and pretended to ponder.

“Oh, _that_ suit,” Andrew continued finally. “I’ll have to go see if it’s ready.”

“Are you kidding me?" Kevin yelled. "Neil told me it would be ready today. I swear-”

“Relax,” Andrew said. “I’ll go get it.”

“The publicist is here,” Andrew muttered to Nicky as he slid behind the curtain that separated Nicky’s tailoring space from the shop front. “Which one is it?”

“The publicist?” Nicky cooed. “Is he hot?”

Andrew ignored that, and Nicky grabbed a garment bag that was hanging on a nearby rail.

“That’s the one,” Nicky said wistfully. He was still all torn-up over what had happened. In his romantic, fantastical version of events, Andrew was the pining lover, doomed to be heartbroken and bereft forever. Andrew was sick of it and snatched the bag from Nicky to emphasise the point.

“You sure you don’t want to look at it?” Nicky said, tilting his head to the side. “It’s some of your best work.”

“Whatever,” Andrew said, turning on his heel to return to the desk.

“That’s it?” Kevin asked as he saw Andrew approaching. “It’s ready?”

“Yup,” Andrew said, before tossing the bag over to Kevin. “Think fast.”

To his surprise, Kevin _did_ think fast and caught the suit before it fell to the ground.

“What are you playing at?” Kevin barked at him. “It could get crumpled.”

“My apologies,” Andrew replied, not meaning it at all.

“Let’s take a look, then,” Kevin said, holding the garment bag up and unzipping it.

Andrew watched carefully, feigning disinterest. It was just how he’d sketched it. Simple, black, but with little touches here and there: silky lapels and cropped trousers, an autumn-leaf coloured tie and a matching pocket square, a plain, white shirt and, hidden away in a plush, velvet box, a pair of emerald cufflinks. Nicky had outdone himself, Andrew thought. He blinked and looked away.

“It’s nice,” Kevin said, running a finger down the shiny black lapel.

He did it in such a way that Andrew paused, wondered.

“Is it you?” He said, without thinking.

Kevin looked over at Andrew, clearly finding the question baffling.

“Is _what_ me?” Kevin asked.

“You know,” Andrew went on, gesturing vaguely to the suit in Kevin’s hand. “Are you getting married?”

“Oh,” Kevin said, looking both surprised and amused. “ _No_. No, no, no.”

“Right,” Andrew said, and then, because he couldn’t help himself, “who, then?”

“Oh, well, his friend Allison from their uni days, but-” Kevin paused, and his eyes widened a little as if he were just realising something important, “why the interest?”

Andrew suddenly wished that Kevin would leave. He’d really shown his hand. _Stupid_.

“Just curious,” Andrew replied carefully. “We’re quite fond of our regulars. We only wish the best for them.”

“He’s not such a regular,” Kevin went on, because _of course_ Neil’s dumb, mother hen of a publicist would know that. “You know, I think it might be more than that.”

Andrew scoffed.

“Do you _like_ him?” Kevin asked. “Because-”

“We’re quite busy today,” Andrew interrupted. “I’d appreciate it if you left me to it.”

“But-” Kevin protested.

“Really,” Andrew went on, looking pointedly at the door. “Give our kindest regards to Mr. Hatford.”

“You don’t-” Kevin tried once again.

Andrew felt the anger bubbling up inside of him, hot and frothy, claustrophobia-inducing. Kevin was looking at him in a way that made him feel like a bug trapped on a sheet of flypaper, overturned and twitching miserably.

“Just get out,” Andrew bit out, his tone ice-cold.

Kevin pursed his lips and frowned. He looked like he wanted to get a last word in, and then like he thought the better of it. He moved towards the door, and with his hand hovering above the handle, he turned, opened his mouth, and then stopped once again. He exhaled an exasperated sigh, opened the door and strode onto the street.

Andrew rolled a cigarette or two.

 

…

 

Later that afternoon, Andrew found himself sitting on the sofa-bed in his underwear with _The One Show_ cheerfully blaring from the TV.

“Sure, next time a gold medal would be nice,” Neil was saying to the annoyingly chatty presenter. “I start training in a couple of months so we’ll see how that goes.”

“Are you confident, though?” The second, even more annoying presenter asked.

“As confident as I can be,” Neil said, a tight smile on his face. “I just- I love running. I’m happy I get to do it for a living. I’m happy that I get to keep pushing myself. But-”

Andrew scowled at the TV. Neil was wearing a bright, red jumper. It clashed beautifully with his sunset-orange hair, and Andrew felt something pulsating and hot coil in his gut. Neil had paired the sweater with slim-fitting black jeans that were busted at the knees and white sneakers. Andrew squinted at the screen. Poking out of the top of Neil’s sneakers were the doughnut-print socks Andrew had picked out for him. Andrew felt the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smirk and it very nearly prompted him to turn off the TV.

“If I don’t get the gold, that just means there are runners out there faster than me, better than me. But that’s okay too. As long as I get to run, I-” Neil continued.

“But you will be _aiming_ for the gold, right? It’s surely-”

Andrew smashed his thumb into the mute button. The presenters were really getting on his nerves.

He slid his thumb across the screen of his phone, unlocking it. He pulled up Google and searched for _Neil Hatford_. Hundreds of thousands of results were pulled up and Andrew didn’t know where to start. Making a mental note to delete his search history immediately afterward, he then added _Allison university_ to the search. Nothing too revealing came up, so Andrew clicked back and then selected the first _Neil Hatford_ Facebook profile. It wasn’t him. Andrew tried a few more, and then, when he felt like giving up entirely, he stumbled upon it: Neil’s Facebook profile.

The privacy settings were quite lax for a celebrity athlete. Andrew scrolled through a couple of profile pictures, and there they were. Neil and a girl tagged as Allison Reynolds sitting on the grass in Hyde Park. She was all golden hair and immaculate make-up. The two of them were wearing sunglasses and Neil was blowing a shiny, pink orb of bubblegum. The caption read, _two besties hangin at the park, pic courtesy of renee_. Andrew clicked on Allison’s profile. Her profile picture was of her and a serene-looking girl with hair the colour of starlight; they were standing with their arms around each other on what looked like a runway.

Andrew flicked his gaze toward the TV again. Neil was gone. They were onto some segment about farm animals.

Andrew deleted his history from his phone and turned off the TV. Then, he went to put on some clothes and headed out to the nearest bar. He tried not to think of the picture, of Neil and Allison drenched in sunlight, of their matching sunglasses and their model good looks, but he did.

They’d looked happy Andrew thought, as he downed a shot of whisky. They’d looked happy, and it was time for him to let go of whatever stupid thoughts were lingering in his mind, rattling around like loose change.

 

…

 

“So, Aaron is back tonight,” Nicky said chirpily.

Andrew grunted in response. He wasn’t too hungover, but he was tired, groggy; the inside of his head felt like a pane of fogged-up glass.  

“I’ve made dinner reservations,” Nicky went on. “You, me, Aaron and Katelyn. Won’t that be nice?”

“Sounds _super_ ,” Andrew mumbled sarcastically.

“We haven’t seen him since Christmas, Andrew,” Nicky chided gently. “And you never check the group chat.”

“I check the group chat,” Andrew muttered. “I just don’t degrade myself enough to engage in it.”

“The reservation is at that Italian tapas place down the road at seven thirty,” Nicky said, scribbling down the details as if Andrew might forget. “Don’t be late, okay?”

Andrew rolled his eyes. A dinner with his brother and cousin wouldn’t be _too_ horrific, but he found Katelyn kind of insipid. At least there would be tiramisu and wine.

The rest of the day was an uneventful blur. Andrew ate a bland cheese and pickle sandwich for lunch. Customers came and went. Charles Walker came to pick up his tweed suit wearing his tight cycling gear. Not even _his_ tame flirting could arouse Andrew out of his funk.

By the time he left work, the rain had subsided into a pitiful drizzle. He went home to change and ended up snoozing on the sofa-bed for just over an hour.

He got back into town just after seven thirty and didn’t think too much of it; they could order appetisers without him. He made it to the restaurant and scanned the tables. He couldn’t see Nicky or Aaron, so Andrew assumed they must have been seated near the back.

“Name, sir?” A waiter asked as he took Andrew’s jacket from him.

“Minyard,” Andrew told him, “but the reservation is probably under Hemmick.”

“Ah, yes,” The waiter said, his face brightening. “Your date has already arrived, Mr. Minyard.”

 _What the fuck?_ Andrew thought.

“That’s-” Andrew began, but the waiter was already ushering him through to the back of the restaurant.

“Right this way,” The waiter twittered, looking delighted.

Andrew followed him to the back of the restaurant. Away from the open windows nearer the front, the dark, red décor was almost black; the main source of illumination being the tiny tea-lights sitting in clusters on the tables. And there, right at the back, at a table set for two, checking his phone and jiggling his leg nervously, was Neil Hatford.

Neil looked up, the candlelight creating flickering halos in his eyes, and grinned when he saw Andrew approaching.

“What are you doing here?” Andrew asked, his heart annoyingly cartwheeling in his chest.

“I- uh-” Neil began, his grin fading, “Nicky invited me? He said you both wanted to take me out to dinner? To thank me for my custom?”

Andrew stared at him blankly.

“And he didn’t tell you," Neil concluded.

“No. He did not,” Andrew agreed.

“Oh, right,” Neil said, fiddling with the cutlery in front of him. “Um. So. Is he coming?”

“I don’t think he is,” Andrew replied. “I think we’ve been had.”

“You mean- ?” Neil trailed off, not really following.

“You thought you were here to meet Nicky and myself,” Andrew explained, folding his arms across his chest and wondering if he should sit down. “I thought I was here to meet Nicky and my brother.”

“Oh,” Neil said, understanding. “He set us up.”

“He’s stupid,” Andrew muttered, sitting down across from Neil and beginning to scan the menu.

“No, he’s not,” Neil said, taking a sip of water. “I’m glad he did-”

Andrew shook his head and shot Neil a look as if to say, _what are you doing?_

“I mean,” Neil continued, “last time we saw each other was a bit of a disaster.”

“I wasn’t in a good mood. I apologise,” Andrew said coolly.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Neil said, narrowing his eyes at Andrew.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m just another customer.”

“You _are_ just another customer.”

“But- I thought-”

“ _What_ did you think, exactly?” Andrew asked brusquely. “You’re getting married, in case you forgot.”

“I didn’t-” Neil started to say, but was interrupted by a waiter coming to take their order.

“I’ll have the arancini,” Neil told the waiter, dazedly. “And a glass of white wine.”

“Tiramisu,” Andrew said. “And best make it a bottle.”

The waiter nodded and left.

“You were saying?” Andrew prompted. His heart was beating fast in his chest and he _hated_ it, _hated_ Neil Hatford and every single thing about him.

“You were so cold last time I was at the shop,” Neil went on, measuring his words carefully. “I didn’t think the wedding thing would be such a big deal.”

“Such a big deal,” Andrew repeated, the words feeling odd and otherworldly in his mouth.

“Well, yeah,” Neil said, looking frustrated. “I mean, you can come if you want to.”

“I’m not going to come to your wedding,” Andrew told him.

“Well, alright,” Neil said, looking a little disappointed. “Why can’t you?”

“Why do you think?” Andrew asked, incredulous. “Because it would-”

 _Hurt_. It would hurt. He couldn't say it out loud.

“What?” Neil persisted, not understanding.

“It would be too overwhelming,” Andrew said slowly, looking at Neil and trying to communicate something secret and significant to him.

“Andrew,” Neil said, his fingers inching forward across the table and resting a millimetre or so away from Andrew’s own, “I- I like you. I like the way you-”

“Are you crazy?” Andrew asked, exhaling sharply. “Have you actually lost your mind?”

“What?”

“You are getting married.”

“I know, but-”

“You can’t tell me you’re getting married and then tell me you like me. Are you trying to fuck with me? Is that it?”

“But, Andrew, you’ve got it all wrong,” Neil went on, laughing a short, hysterical laugh. “Allison is-”

The waiter came over once again and placed two tiny, glass tumblers on the table before pouring pinot grigio into them. Neil muttered his thanks and took a sip of the wine.

“Allison is one of my best friends from university,” Neil explained. “She’s from the States, like you. She came over here to study fashion, and now she’s trying to make it as a designer. She- uh, it's a long story but her parents cut her off a while ago and she’s struggling to make things work. She recently applied for a Visa extension and it was rejected. She can’t go home, Andrew. Her life is here. So I offered to marry her. I have more money than I need. On paper, it would all work, you know?”

Andrew swallowed his wine in short gulps. _Cut off, Visa extension, marry her_. The words were pieces of a puzzle, slotting neatly into place.

“So, I’m not marrying her because of, well, you know,” Neil continued. “I’m marrying her so she can stay.”

“You’re really going to do that for her?” Andrew said. “That is one huge favour.”

“She’s my best friend,” Neil replied, smiling. “Wouldn’t you do the same?”

Andrew wasn’t sure. There was nobody in his life that fit that particular bill, but in a different way, he understood. Though he’d never tell them, there was little he wouldn’t do for Aaron or Nicky.

“I thought I told you all this,” Neil said, his fingers finally, clumsily intertwining with Andrew’s. “That night we were out? In the club?”

Andrew thought back to that night. All he could remember was Neil’s laughter, his admission about hating putting on a smile all the time, his passion for running, his eyes bright in the dark the same way they were now. He shook his head.

“I’m sure I did,” Neil insisted emphatically.

“I’m sure you’re full of shit,” Andrew muttered, squeezing Neil’s hand.

“Kevin said you were very rude, by the way,” Neil said, throwing Andrew a playful smirk.

“Kevin can suck my dick,” Andrew scoffed.

“Steady on,” Neil teased.

“You’re a complete and total idiot,” Andrew told him, meaning it.

“Maybe,” Neil replied with a shrug. “Will you come? To the wedding? You can be my date.”

“Your date? To your own wedding?”

“Why not? I’m sure people have been on weirder dates.”

Andrew rubbed a thumb across Neil’s knuckle and imagined kissing it, imagined kissing his lips, imagined kissing him _everywhere_. Inside his body, he felt a thousand dimmed embers flaring back to life. He felt like the world was spinning fast on its axis like a fairground ride that was out of control. The candlelight danced in Neil’s eyes and it looked like a promise, a vow, like sunlight after a storm.

“I’ll be there,” Andrew said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: prelude to a blow job (that sounds like a dirty orchestral suite), nothing massively explicit

“Are you ready?” Allison asked teasingly, brushing imaginary dust off her husband-to-be’s shoulders.

“Of course I’m ready,” Neil replied, batting her hands away. “All I have to do is get up there and say ‘I do’. It’s not like it’s complicated.”

Andrew watched them blankly from where he and Athos were standing by the rooftop railings. Neil had given him the task of dog sitting for the ceremony and now the lead was wound tight around his wrist. Athos kept looking up at him expectantly and Andrew returned the gaze with a blank stare.

“Just making sure you’re not going to mess up,” Allison went on. “You have to put on a good show for loverboy here.”

Andrew ignored the nickname Allison had gleefully chosen for him earlier in the day when they’d been introduced, choosing instead to take a swig from the champagne flute he was holding.

“Adorable, aren’t they?” A woman said, appearing so suddenly that Andrew wondered if she’d teleported in beside him. Andrew swallowed the champagne and looked at her. Her gossamer, elderflower-coloured dress was billowing in the breeze, and despite himself, Andrew admired the wardrobe choice. The woman’s hair was wound in braids around her head, exposing the pastel streaks of yellow, blue and pink that lay buried in the silver.

“Hello. I’m Renee,” She said, bending down to run a hand through Athos’s black, glossy fur, but keeping her eyes firmly on Andrew’s. “Allison told me you’re here with Neil?”

Andrew nodded his head slightly.

“Are you Neil’s-” She paused, as if trying to find the right word to use. “Person?”

“I’m his _person-_ al stylist,” Andrew replied matter-of-factly.

“You’ve been entrusted with Athos,” Renee went on without batting an eyelid. “That’s a very important job.”

Andrew looked down at the dog, unconvinced.

“I think it’s good of you to come,” Renee told Andrew. “Some might find it strange, but it’s not really, is it? He’s helping a very dear friend. That they’re going to be legally ‘married’ is just a technicality, isn’t it? Secondary to their friendship.”

“It’s not important to me,” Andrew said. “You don’t have to try to make me feel better about it.”

“Good,” Renee replied. She smiled warmly at him and then turned her head. The sunlight caught on the strands of her hair, making them shine like rippling light on the surface of a river.

Beside them, Neil and Allison were squabbling about corsages. Andrew looked to Neil and felt something like yearning pooling in his chest, hot and melty, like liquid gold. After he’d been asked here, as Neil’s date, he’d spent every day since wondering if it were a mistake. He had no idea what was going to go on between them. It could be a brief flirtation, a fling, something bigger than that. He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that to come to the wedding was to be involved with Neil for at least the immediate future, and that meant being okay with involving himself with a dangerously attractive Olympic athlete who was now marrying someone as a favour. Somewhere along the way, he decided he was, and the molten yearning continued to gather, set to spill over the brim.

Neil was wearing the cropped, black trousers and russet-coloured tie. His hair was a luminous jumble of red and gold in the sunlight that trickled in through the gazebo roof. Allison was pinning a tumble of pink and purple fuchsias to his lapel. The guests were starting to arrive, taking their seats, and though he’d made peace with the situation, Andrew thought hungrily of the five tightly rolled cigarettes lying in the tin in his suit jacket pocket. Renee laid a hand on his arm before walking with Allison to the front of the gazebo.

“You okay?” Neil asked, slinking up beside him and tapping Andrew’s shoulder.

“Obviously,” Andrew replied dryly, pointedly raising his glass of champagne.

“This is weird,” Neil said, his eyes suddenly thoughtful. “I never thought I’d- well, I never thought I’d get married.”

“And why’s that?” Andrew asked, brushing his knuckle against Neil’s clenched hand.

“I just didn’t think I’d find someone I liked in _that way_ , you know?” Neil went on, laughing uncomfortably. “And I mean, I know this wedding isn’t _that_ , of course. I’ve never thought of Allison in that way. But then there’s you. You’re here. It’s a bit of a mix-up.”

“I don’t care,” Andrew went on. “And it’s a little early to be thinking that way.”

Neil laughed for real at that.

“You know, you’re right,” He said, his eyes a winking blue fire. They were surrounded by spilling garlands of white and pink and pale yellow. Around them, the small congregation of guests were creating a small hubbub, but Andrew felt a pocket of quiet surrounding them like a shield.

“Why me?” He asked, their fingertips brushing. “If you never thought-?”

“Ah, that’s a tricky question,” Neil said, rubbing the back of his neck, deep in thought. “And in some ways it’s not. Wow. You- that day, you saw me as Neil. You didn’t see me as an idol or a project or whatever. You saw me as me. You told me to ‘just run’, remember? You said, ‘who cares what they think?’ and it was probably the best thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Andrew felt champagne bubbles, popping gently, fluttering through his veins.

“You look nice,” Neil went on, flashing Andrew a grin. “I wish I could kiss you.”

Andrew was wearing a light grey suit with a blue, paisley shirt and an ink-blue tie. He hadn’t thought it particularly special, but Neil was looking at him like he’d just found something precious that he’d thought lost.

“Can’t you?” Andrew mumbled. “Isn’t Kevin warding off the paparazzi at the entrance?”

“Yes, and he’s very good at that, but you never know when one of them is gonna sneak in anyway,” Neil replied, with a tired sigh. “Once the boring part is over, I’ll be all yours. So, later?”

“Later,” Andrew agreed, and then Neil was away, their pinkie fingers intertwining briefly, before separating.

The midsummer breeze was warm, delicate. It slipped through Andrew’s fingers like chiffon or silk. He looked down at Athos and then back to the wedding party. Around him, the rooftop was growing still, quiet. Andrew thought about grabbing a seat near the back, but he wasn’t in the mood to sit silently and listen to all the legal jargon of the ceremony.

Neil was standing at the front of the congregation now, as Allison and Renee fiddled around with the bouquet. Andrew caught Neil’s eye and jerked his head to the exit. Neil held his gaze for a second that felt like infinity, and Andrew felt this inexplicable tether between them - stretching the entire length of the rooftop - pulling taut, before Neil nodded his head.

Andrew tugged on Athos’s lead and went round to the exit as the ceremony began. Kevin was leaning against the rooftop door and narrowed his eyebrows at Andrew when he saw him approach.

“Want a smoke?” Andrew asked, pinning a cigarette in the corner of his mouth and offering Kevin one from the tin.  

“You’ll get horrible diseases and die,” Kevin pointed out dryly.

“Really? That’s news to me,” Andrew replied sarcastically, joining Kevin.

“If you guys are going to carry on, it’ll be like this,” Kevin muttered, gesturing to the closed door with his hand. “Hiding from the paparazzi, pretending. Is that really what you want?”

“Since when do you care what I want?” Andrew asked, flicking a posey of ash to the ground.

“I don’t,” Kevin replied. “I just want you to be sure. He doesn’t let people in, not often.”

Andrew opened his mouth to retort but stopped. The truth was that he didn’t let anyone in, either. He’d thought he’d been waiting for something monumental or miraculous to happen to him, but maybe he’d just been killing time hanging around for someone to brave the walls he’d built around himself, make him realise that everything his grey, empty world had been full of colour all along. Recently he been calling it ‘yearning’, a ‘tether’, but he knew it had another name.

Andrew had told Neil that pretending was boring, but in some ways, he was pretending too. He’d told Neil he dressed people to kill time, and in some ways, he had believed that. He did it because he’d grown up surrounded by spools of thread and bundles of fabric and books full of suit patterns, because he hadn’t had a separate calling the way Aaron had with medicine. He’d thought it temporary, unimportant, but in some ways, it was everything. He noticed every tiny detail of someone’s clothing; he noticed every clashing colour and piece of lint. The thing was, he actually _enjoyed_ picking out palettes and cuts, matching shirts to suit jackets, choosing the perfect accessories to adorn an outfit. When he looked at Neil wearing the suit he’d designed, he felt a knot of pride and fire coil in his heart. In some ways, designing was the _opposite_ of yearning.

Somewhere along the line, he’d gotten things wrong. He hadn’t been waiting for a change in direction. He’d been exactly where he’d needed to be all along. What he _had_ been waiting for was a calamitous redhead to turn up at the boutique and make him realise this was what he was supposed to be doing, make him realise a whole torrential rainstorm of things.

“I’m sure,” He said eventually, looking Kevin in the eye.

“Alright,” Kevin murmured softly, bending down to rub Athos’s belly.

The three of them stood like that for a minute, in the lemony haze of the sunshine. Andrew blew a cloud of smoke out of his nose as Kevin raked a hand through Athos’s soft, black fur.

“No sign of the paparazzi,” Andrew remarked, sneaking a glance over the fence as he tossed away his cigarette end.  

“Yes, I think I frightened them off-”

Kevin was interrupted by a burst of chatter coming from the gazebo.

Before either of them had a chance to investigate, Allison’s voice rang out loud and clear across the PA system.

“Could everyone gather round? I have a bit of an announcement to make,” Allison said, her voice all frothy like fizzed-up soda.

Kevin shot Andrew a puzzled look and they made their way inside. Allison was standing in front of the wedding party, a microphone in one hand and her phone in the other. Her face was flushed red. Beside her, Neil was grinning encouragingly.

“As you all know, my good friend Neil offered to marry me in order for me to get a partner visa, and to be able to stay here and continue working on my clothing line,” Allison began. “And I’m obviously eternally grateful to him for even considering it. He’s honestly the best friend a girl could ask for. And I’m really sorry because you all made an effort coming here today, and because you all look fucking fantastic, but I won’t actually be needing that visa after all.”

An anticipatory hush fell in the gazebo as the guests seemed to collectively hold their breath. Andrew looked around, ensuring his face was as plain as stone. He had no idea what the hell was going on.

“So, a little while ago, Renee and I filled in an application for a small business visa, and I literally just found out that I got it,” Allison went on, holding up her phone and waggling it at the congregation. “So not only will I be staying here, but I’ll be opening a small studio and boutique. I’m sorry you all came this way for a wedding, but, well, we’ve got plenty of food and champagne, so please stay and enjoy the ‘Allison’s staying’ party.”

Andrew looked around, incredulous. The wedding guests seemed to accept this turn of events with little concern and were now heading for the buffet. When Kevin handed him a flute of champagne, he took it happily.

“Those two will be the death of me, I swear,” Kevin said, looking slightly pale.

“Isn’t this better?” Andrew asked, when he finally found his voice. “Now he won’t have to pretend he’s happily married or whatever.”

Kevin just groaned and turned in the direction of the bar.

When Andrew turned to look for Neil, he saw that Neil had been waylaid by Stuart and a few of his friends. Andrew couldn’t be bothered with the inevitable small talk, so he walked across the rooftop and toward Allison. She and Renee were excitedly chattering away, stopping only when he reached them.

“I need to talk to you,” Andrew said, tilting his head toward the exit. Allison exchanged a quick, curious glance with Renee before following.

They walked across the rooftop to the door and Allison laced her arms together, looking at Andrew questioningly.

“You studied fashion design at university,” Andrew stated blandly.

“I did,” Allison replied slowly, her eyes narrowing into a squint.

“That’s what I want to do,” Andrew told her. “Properly. Will they want a portfolio?”

Allison blinked once, twice, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she began to laugh. The sound was as clear and bright as the sun-drenched sky.

“I’m sorry,” She managed through giggles. “It’s just- I thought you brought me over here to stab me or something. Jesus Christ, loverboy.”

“Stab you,” Andrew repeated, nonplussed.

“Ah, you just have that look, you know?” Allison explained, catching her breath. “Like there are twelve different kinds of knife hidden in that swanky suit of yours.”

“And why would I stab you?” Andrew asked, close to considering the idea.

“Oh, you know,” Allison said, smirking. “Because I almost married Neil. And if it had gone ahead, you’d have to answer to me, his wife, if you ever screwed him over. But you wouldn’t do that, right?”

“I think I get it,” Andrew replied impatiently. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t answer mine,” Allison shot back. “Neil is the greatest person I know. You know, I had to get someone to invest in the line to get this damn business visa? So of course he’s fronting the money because he’s so stubbornly generous. Even though we didn’t get married today, it’s still all because of him I get to stay in this rainy little shithole and make _the_ most impeccable dresses imaginable. He always has my back, and that’s because he’s a fucking treasure.”

“Nobody is getting screwed over,” Andrew told Allison, hoping it would shut her up.

“Good,” Allison said, her smile as sharp as a spindle. “And to answer your question, _yes_ , you will need a portfolio. A good one, as well, if you want to go to the Royal. You’re amazing. Anyone with eyes on Neil can see that. But you’ll also learn a shit-load, and you’ll get better than amazing. Next question.”

“I’m done,” Andrew said.

“For now, at least,” Allison replied. “If you need any more advice, you know where I am.”

Andrew nodded and they made their way back to the gazebo. Allison split away from him and gravitated once again toward Renee; they were like two cherry blossom petals cascading from the same branch, circling and grazing each other as they tumbled in the wind. Andrew pulled his attention away from them and looked for Neil.

Neil met Andrew’s gaze from across the crowded dance floor, and Andrew pointed toward the bathrooms. Neil immediately began to grin and they each made their way over to the men’s room, practically pushing each other inside.

“You didn’t get married,” Andrew muttered, his fingers sliding up Neil’s back to his suit jacket collar, then tiptoeing across the smooth skin of his neck before getting knotted deep in his hair.

“Guess not,” Neil replied smugly, his breath hot and warm against Andrew’s mouth. “Can I have that kiss now?”

“Yes,” Andrew bit out, before slamming his mouth against Neil’s own and shoving Neil toward one of the bathroom stalls.

Neil kept going, nipping tiny kisses into the crook of Andrew’s jaw, and down the soft, tender spots of his neck as Andrew kicked the door closed and slipped the lock into place.

Andrew twirled Neil around and pinned him to the door, twining his hands in the fabric of Neil’s jacket and trying to yank Neil’s shirt out from where it was tucked into his trousers to find purchase on his skin. Neil’s mouth found his again, fierce with want, and Andrew slipped his tongue inside Neil’s mouth. Their kiss quickened, deepened, until Andrew withdrew, huffed out a sharp sigh. His hands were all tangled up in Neil’s clothes, his shirt straining so hard the buttons were close to popping.

“So many damn layers,” Andrew complained, pressing his face into Neil’s shoulder.

“ _You_ dressed me,” Neil mumbled against Andrew’s hair, amused.

“Are we really going to fuck in the bathroom at your own wedding?” Andrew asked, the words coming out all worn down and croaky.

“I don’t know,” Neil replied coyly. “Are we?”

“Are you two quite finished?” Kevin’s alarmed voice rang out from the next cubicle.

Neil’s eyes widened for a second before he started laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Andrew immediately removed his hands and laid them flat on the cubicle door.  

“Jesus, you could have just checked if someone else was in here,” Kevin grumbled.

“Whoops,” Neil called out, sounding unbothered.

Kevin’s interruption had the same effect on Andrew as a cold shower; he unlocked the door and he and Neil left the cubicle and headed back to the party for a soothing glass of champagne.

 

…

 

When the evening came, they ended up back at Andrew’s flat. They had both lost their ties somewhere along the way and Neil had ditched his suit jacket in favour of the studded, ripped denim jacket he’d found in Camden all those weeks ago. Andrew hated to admit it, but he was growing fond of the thing.

Having Neil in his flat was a strange but not unwelcome feeling. It made all the colours and patterns seem different, _better_. Andrew flung open the balcony doors to let the cool air in, exposing a pumpkin-orange sunset.

“Teach me how to roll these things,” Neil instructed, sitting cross-legged on the couch and crinkling the plastic sleeve of Andrew’s tobacco pouch as he grabbed it off the table.

Andrew loosened his shirt collar and hung up his suit jacket before going over to the record player to put some music on. He padded over the carpet in his bare feet, joining Neil on the couch.

“You have to be gentler than that,” Andrew said, watching as Neil crammed the paper with strands of brown tobacco and clumsily tried to roll it up.

Neil frowned and started again, and Andrew was patient enough to watch him try until he got it right.

“Now what?” Neil asked, presenting the sloppily-rolled cigarette to Andrew as if it were a daisy he’d just plucked from the ground.

“Now we smoke it,” Andrew replied lazily, taking it from Neil and tucking it behind his ear.

“Wear this - you’ll be cold,” Neil said, tossing the denim jacket at Andrew, who eyed it with an exaggerated disdain.

“It’s a warm night,” Andrew protested, already slipping his arms inside.

They stood on the balcony a while, exchanging smoky sighs and muttering about what they’d like to order for dinner.

“I’m still stuffed from the buffet,” Neil said, his voice all husky and swollen from the smoke, which he clearly wasn’t used to.

“We might be hungry after,” Andrew replied, not thinking about how such a statement would sound out loud.

Neil coughed, choking on a too-large draw of smoke, and passed the cigarette back to Andrew.

“Should you be smoking this?” Andrew asked, taking it from him. “Professional athlete and all that.”

“I’m not in training right now,” Neil replied with a shrug. “And besides, it’s my wedding night.”

The orange above them had morphed into a cartoon, cosmic purple. Andrew wrapped his arms tightly around himself, the bruise-like yellowy-blue of the vintage denim soft against his skin, and listened to the hasty tick-tock of his own heartbeat. The anticipation settled in his bones like a chill, and he stubbed out the cigarette in an old ashtray he’d stolen from some pub or other.

Neil seemed to feel it too, because he inhaled sharply all of a sudden and started walking backwards, inside. Andrew followed, keeping his eyes glued to Neil’s, until they were both horizontal on the couch and kissing like it was their last night on earth. Andrew shrugged his arms out of the denim jacket and chucked it on the floor before getting to work undoing the buttons on Neil’s shirt. Neil squirmed impatiently on the couch cushions beneath him as Andrew started placing a winding path of kisses down his neck, nipping a rosebud of a lovebite at the edge of his collarbone, before stitching an impossibly slow seam of kisses down Neil’s exposed chest.

Andrew stopped once he reached the fly of Neil’s suit trousers and flicked his eyes upwards to meet Neil’s, to check it was okay to keep going, and Neil let loose a strangled ‘ _yes_ ’, prompting Andrew to lower his face and catch the button of Neil’s trousers between his teeth, loosening them with a deft jerk of his mouth. When he looked up again, Neil was staring at him, justifiably impressed, his mouth a flushed, round _o_.

“Okay?” Andrew asked.

“Yes, good, but-” Neil tried to get his words out. “I’ve- um, I’ve never- _ugh_.”

“You've never- ?” Andrew prompted, unsurprised but wanting Neil to say what he had to say.

“I’ve never done this before. With anyone,” Neil finished.

“Okay,” Andrew replied, lifting himself up slightly. “We don’t have to do anything-”

“No. _No_. That’s not what I meant,” Neil explained hurriedly. “I _want_ to. I just- I thought you should know.”

“What do you want to do?” Andrew asked.

“I- ? Uh- ? Whatever you were just doing was good,” Neil told him.

“It’s your wedding night and you’re getting off with the guy who designed the suit,” Andrew said, quirking his eyebrow. “What do you want to do, Neil?”

Neil was still melting pleasurably into the couch, his shirt half-off and his fly undone. He was hard from kissing, warm and trembling and exhilarated. Andrew swallowed, waiting for his answer.

“Could you- blow me?” Neil asked eventually, the question coming out all wobbly. “I mean- only if that’s what you were going to do anyway and-”

“Yes,” Andrew said, tucking a kiss in between Neil’s hipbone and thigh, like stitching a secret thread into the pleat of a garment.

Andrew shifted a little, licking his lips and looking down at where Neil was stiff and waiting. When he finally ducked down and took him in his mouth, Neil’s rough, hasty groans turned to surprised, fluttery little gasps and Andrew just lost himself in how fucking good everything felt.

 

…

 

Later, as they lay in a nest of discarded clothes and entwined limbs, Andrew switched the TV on and put on an old rerun of a panel show. They watched, the TV painting soft, gloomy blue shadows in the dark, not really listening. Across the room, the balcony doors were still thrown open, the drape clumsily pulled across but now shuddering in the late night breeze. Andrew eventually unwound himself from Neil and went to grab two beers as well as his tobacco pouch.

“I’m supposed to start training again soon,” Neil told Andrew, absent-mindedly running his fingers along the veins protruding from his forearms.  

Andrew switched on a nearby lamp so he could see what he was doing and mumbled for Neil to continue.

“I don’t think I’m going to go,” Neil said. “Not yet, at least.”

“You want to give up running?” Andrew asked neutrally.

“I don’t want to give up running,” Neil replied, shaking his head. “I just don’t like being famous. I want to do things on my own terms. I need to work out what works best for me so I don’t end up hating it.”

“Okay,” Andrew responded, nodding once and bringing the paper up to his mouth to run his tongue along the gum.

“I was also thinking I’d like to go on a trip,” Neil went on, sliding his gaze to Andrew and smiling conspiratorially.

“Like a honeymoon?” Andrew asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Sure,” Neil said with a shrug. “Would you like to come with me?”

Andrew’s thumb froze on the catch of the lighter. If this were any other guy on his couch, he’d think of a thousand excuses not to see them again. But Aaron was back for the summer and could cover for him at the shop, and he was probably due a holiday, and mostly? He wanted to.

“Let’s go,” He said, igniting the cherry.

Neil grinned like he'd just crossed the finish line after a particularly hard race and Andrew pressed his lips together.

"You feet are disgusting," Andrew told him, nodding his head at Neil's runner's feet, which were all crooked and beat-up, a skyline of blackened toenails.

"They're runner's feet," Neil protested, sounding scandalised.

Andrew suppressed the urge to bat him with one of the couch cushions and jerked his head toward the balcony doors.

They stayed up late, passing a cigarette back and forth and nibbling at cold Chinese food. Eventually, they folded their weary, pleased bodies into Andrew's bed, muttering in the dark until they finally fell asleep.

 

...

 

“What the _fuck_?” was Aaron’s response when Andrew filled him in the next morning.

Aaron spent his summers in between semesters at Oxford helping out in the boutique. He didn’t have Andrew’s flair for style, but he wasn’t terrible either. He’d shown up that morning with two iced lattes (one for Nicky and one for himself) as well as a caramel frappé for Andrew, muttering a laboured _hello_ as if he and Andrew had seen each other yesterday afternoon rather than nine months ago. Still, Andrew had accepted the coffee and, as a sign of his gratitude, decided to horrify his brother with his latest exploits.

“So first you guys were flirting, and then it turned out he was getting _married_ , and then you went along to the wedding as his _date_ , and then he didn’t get married in the end at all?” Aaron said, dumbfounded. “Sounds like the plot of a really bad romcom.”

“Or a _really_ great porno,” Nicky countered, slurping the remnants of his iced latte up through his straw.

“So, you two can handle things here while I’m gone,” Andrew stated, dumping his empty cup in the bin.

“Gone?” Aaron repeated. “Jesus fucking Christ. Where are you going?”

“Rome,” Andrew responded plainly. “For two weeks. Maybe three.”

“Well, sure,” Nicky replied. “You deserve a holiday, Andrew. Aaron can handle your clients while you’re gone.”

“You should probably look for a new personal stylist anyway,” Andrew went on, pulling out his notebook and looking through his scribbles. “I’m applying to study fashion design this September.”

Aaron muttered another _what the fuck_ as Nicky became all starry-eyed.

“That’s great, Andrew!” Nicky said, tears beading at the corners of his eyes. “You’ll be perfect.”

“Maybe not perfect,” Andrew muttered. “But better.”

 

**...**

**...**

**...**

 

In Rome, Summer was an entirely different beast. The sunlight cascaded down the streets and spilled off the edges of balconies, a flood of Limoncello-yellow.

They spent their days sleeping late, eating gelato for breakfast and having Negroni cocktails at lunch. Neil fanned himself against the stifling heat, saying that Andrew hadn’t factored in holiday clothes when he’d come to the boutique earlier that summer.

He was sitting across from Andrew, sunglasses askew on the top of his bedhead. He was wearing green, cotton overalls and a plain white t-shirt underneath.

“I swear, I should have gotten tank tops and shorts and sandals,” Neil complained. “Some personal stylist you are.”

“You can make a formal complaint if you want,” Andrew replied, finishing off his espresso.

“Maybe you can help me with winter clothes when we get back,” Neil joked, tossing some Euros down to cover the bill before standing up and stretching.

“I think your days as my client as over,” Andrew muttered as they left the café and began walking between the long stripes of shade cast by the grand, white columns.

“Rude,” Neil shot back. “What if I need a new wardrobe?”

Andrew rolled his eyes and leant in close.

“Then Kevin will just have to take you to Ikea,” He replied, fastening a slow, easy kiss into the corner of Neil’s mouth.

Neil stilled for a moment, flushing pink in the shadows, and then he walked into a patch of sunlight, laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on [tumblr](http://palmetttos.tumblr.com/) if u wanna chat or let me know about any sneaky typos


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